


Window to the Soul

by ZeNSin



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Consensual Skullfucking, Light BDSM, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Tentacle Dick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-06
Updated: 2016-07-06
Packaged: 2018-07-21 22:42:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7408072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZeNSin/pseuds/ZeNSin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Papyrus gets skullfucked.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Window to the Soul

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯  
> (The title is [Crawly](http://archiveofourown.org/users/crawlycrawlers/pseuds/crawlycrawlers/works)'s fault.)

Papyrus struggles weakly.

His wrists are bound together behind his back, and he's kneeling on the floor, wood digging into his kneecaps.

Father's standing above him, looking down at him with serious, stern eyes.

"Papyrus," he says, and his voice makes Papyrus shudder. "Just say the word, and I'll stop immediately. Understand?"

Father reaches out a hand, gently curves it around the back of Papyrus' skull. His breath hitches.

"Y-YES, FATHER."

Father steps closer, and magic brushes across his senses— warm and inviting, and his bones rattle together.

"You remember the safe word?"

He swallows. "Y-YEAH. PUZZLE."

Even though he's on edge, prickling with nervous energy, that still makes him smile. It had been Father's idea.

"Okay," Father steps even closer, and Papyrus leans in without thought; magic brushes over his face, and he exhales shakily. "Are you ready?"

Papyrus nods. Works his throat. "YES."

Father removes his hand, letting his fingertips slip over the bone— hitches his pants down and drops them out of the way.

Father's tentacle slides into existence with a wet, slick sound— magic hums and pulses, sings behind Papyrus' teeth, and he groans, aching to wrap his fingers around it.

Father laughs. "Patience, son," but his voice is strained, and Papyrus repeats the sound, just so he can hear Father groan.

"Cheeky," he sighs, and Papyrus leans as close as he can— the tentacle languidly moves towards him, shining wetly.

He nuzzles his face against it, lets his breath wash over it— Father's breath hiccups, and Papyrus gently catches the tip with his teeth; makes sure it doesn't hurt.

The tentacle curves in behind his teeth, tickles over bone and the roof of his mouth— he inches closer, and Father's hand comes up to push against the back of his skull.

He hums; lets the sound vibrate in his mouth, and Father makes a low, drawn-out sound.

"Y—you're getting s-sidetracked," Father pants, hips hitching. Papyrus hums again, this time in agreement, and slicks a tongue against the bottom of the tentacle.

Father shudders— fingers sliding over the curve of his skull, scratching gently.

Papyrus ducks back; slips away from Father's grip, and lets the tentacle slide out of his mouth.

"A BIT," he agrees, and looks up at Father— at the flush to his cheeks, and the way his ribs rises and falls with pants. His eyelights are small, pulsing, glimmers.

Father looks down at him, hand clenching and unclenching, and then he huffs out a strained laugh.

"Better?" he asks, voice not in the least under control.

Papyrus nods— the nervous edge is mostly gone, a soft thrum instead of an overwhelming _thing_.

"YEAH! I'M READY," he shifts slightly; positions himself better, and the tentacle reaches for him, end curling and twisting at air.

Father's hand curve over the back of his skull, and he steps closer— Papyrus exhales slowly, focused, and then it's _right there_ —

The tentacle slips in tentatively; skims over the dips of his socket, and his breath hitches— spine going straight and vision going odd.

It doesn't hurt— not really.

"Ah— is it okay?" Father asks, voice gentle, and Papyrus swallows; curls and uncurls his fingers, and _yes_.

He can't get his mind to work enough to answer, so he just leans his head closer; tentacle sliding further in, and Papyrus' breath goes funny.

The shaft slicks wetly against the sides of his socket, and the tip curls against the back of his skull, teasing over thin bone. Father groans above him, soft and tight, and Papyrus echoes the sound.

Father pushes him closer; fingertips curling in under the dip of his skull, gently scratching over and over the bone.

Slowly, jerkily, Father starts to move— gentle motions, like swaying, and the tentacle slides out and in, the edges of his socket slick.

Papyrus head swims— his magic pulses and throbs, and his breath is warm. He meets each thrust, and liquid is pooling in his mouth, sharp with the taste of Father.

"D—DAD," he manages, voice high and _needy_ , and Father picks up the pace— just a bit, and Papyrus moans.

The tentacle shifts— curls downwards, brushing over the back of his mouth, tickling across bone, and—

Liquid slips out his mouth, slides down his cheek; he makes a soft sound, tonguing at the appendage in his mouth.

Father moans— jerks forward, and his hip taps against the side of Papyrus' face.

"P—Pa-pyr-uss—" Father groans, hip hitching and tentacle sliding back and forth, smooth and slick across his tongue.

Papyrus can't speak— too full and mouth occupied, and so he just moans, drool and other liquids pooling out and running down his face and neck.

Father picks up the pace— thrusting fast and faster, and Papyrus can't hear anything over the roar of magic; can only focus on the slick surface sliding and slipping against the inside of his skull, filling his mouth and every inch of his head.

Father comes first.

Magic surging and sparking throughout his bones, and Papyrus chokes on the feeling of his Father's magic running inside his skull, mind slipping and being dragged into its own spiral.

His magic pulses, surges over him and he swims— like he's air and he's everywhere and nowhere, and the sound of his own orgasm drags him back to reality, dumps him into a shaking, shuddering body.

He gasps; Father is panting, and his hands shake on Papyrus' skull, and the tentacle slides weakly along the bottom of his mouth, the top of his skull.

Father exhales. Slowly, haltingly, and Papyrus can feel the magic shifting inside him— the tentacle dissolving slowly, and the feeling of it fading away makes him groan, a half-strangled moan.

Father gently pats his palm over the back of his skull.

"Sssh," he says, and his voice is strung-high, shaky. "I got you."

Papyrus whines— he feels shaky and strung, and his magic is still _right there_ , whispering and thrumming; he leans forward, taps into Father's hip immediately.

They're both still gasping, and for a while, they just remain there— Papyrus leaning against Father's hipbone, liquid warm inside him, and Papyrus' eyes are slipping close before he knows it.

His breathing is soft.

"Okay," Father says, voice sudden; his palms curve around Papyrus' cheek, gently pushes him back. "Let me get you up."

Hands touches his bones, works the binding around his wrists off— every touch feels like fire, like it's all he can feel, and his breath keeps on hitching, sparking along his vertebrae.

Arms swoop him up, and he presses his face into the soft material of his Father's shirt.

"Here," Father gently sets him down on the bed, and Papyrus can't keep upright— he tips over, nuzzles his face into the warm, fluffy beddings.

Father chuckles; runs his fingers along Papyrus' spine, and he whines. Arches into the touch, and a finger grazes over his coccyx.

His whole body jerks.

He's not sure what sound he's making, except it's all he can hear, and it's _so much—_ his magic flails upwards, rising and snapping through his bones like lightning, and he arches off the bed.

Gasps.

It doesn't release— just stays there, prickling at his bones, and he thrusts his pelvis upwards. Whines.

There's a soft hush above him, fingers ghosting over his iliums— gently swirling across the sensitive bone, and he pants, clutches at the bedding.

Fingers work over bone— skimming over the inlet, working along the ridges between coccyx and sacrum.

His vision flashes.

He spasm with the surge of magic, noise dragging out of his mouth— he's breathless, shaken, and everything _is_.

He falls back slowly.

Bedding soft underneath him, slightly wet, and he shakes in air— breathes, breathes, and slowly his vision returns.

He can barely keep his eyes open.

"Hey," Father says, voice soft and gentle, and cloth gently rubs over his cheek. "Welcome back."

Papyrus keeps on breathing— he feels muted, too wrung out to figure out words. Instead he just flexes his fingers, inches a bit closer.

Father presses a finger to the curve of his cheek.

"Good?" he asks, voice still soft, but also amused now.

Papyrus grins weakly. Nuzzles into Father's hand.

"Y-yeah," he manages, and his voice is all weird. "'s good."


End file.
